How to Acquire a Partner in Crime
by GeekBehindtheGlasses
Summary: When some shady looking men are after Molly Hooper, Sherlock and John decide to intervene. What happens next isn't quite what any of them expected. Molly and Sherlock friendship  and mad trolling  fic.
1. Part One: Find a Suitable Candidate

Author's Note: Decided to write some Sherlock and Molly friendship fic and this was the result. Lovingly beta'ed by my awesome friend Kirsten because she would do anything to get to read this first. ^_^

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><p><em>Put in washing load. Make dinner. Catch up on missed TV while eating dinner. Hang up washing to dry. Read next chapter of book. Sleep.<em>

It was a simple plan for the evening, but Molly Hooper liked to have it straight in her head. She was sure the last few were up for change. Her shift had finished late, again, and she was very tired. She imagined it was more likely that she was going to fall asleep on the sofa after dinner. As she turned down the dark alley she used as a shortcut to her street, she tried to remind herself that doing that would mean she would have to rinse and spin the clothes again in the morning before she could hang them up to dry. Her mind was so focused on her evening that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her or notice the shadow hiding the light from the street she'd left behind.

In fact, it wasn't till a hand was clamped across her mouth and an arm wrapped around her shoulders that she realised she wasn't alone in the alley. At first, her mind went blank. Then her intensive week of self defence classes kicked in with very little thought. She bent her knees and rammed her elbow back hard into her assailant's stomach. The hands let go instantly, giving her the opportunity to spin around, grab their shoulders and knee them very hard in the groin. The yelp and drop to the knees confirmed her suspicions that it was a man. Looking up the alley, she decided to just run towards her house. At least she could lock herself in there.

That was when she saw another figure looming in the darkness, now between her and home. Adrenaline was still coursing through her body, preparing her for the flight back to the street she had turned off. The other figure suddenly turned on a torch and shined it up at their face.

"Molly, don't worry. It's me, John," said the illuminated face, which she had to admit was that of John Watson's.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her heart still racing though she had now quite forgotten about her attacker still just a few feet away from her.

"We were following some thugs; they appear to have taken an interest in your house. So we needed to stop you going home."

Molly tilted her head to one side, looking at John feeling very confused now.

"We?" she asked slowly, her mind not quite caught up to speed.

"You alright back there Sherlock?" John asked, looking past her to the man leaning against the wall taking very deep breaths.

"I'm fine," came the slightly higher pitched than normal reply, before the sound of a cough echoed in the alley.

Molly's mind cottoned on then. Her hands flew up to her mouth as her eyes widened in shock. She had just attacked Sherlock Holmes.

"Don't worry," smiled John as he walked towards her. "He deserved it. I told him he shouldn't jump out at you. Never listens though."

John walked past her; it seemed with the intention of going to make sure she hadn't done any permanent damage to Sherlock. She turned slowly, cringing at the sight of Sherlock trying to straighten himself up and batting away John's hand as he reached out to him.

"It wasn't quite the reaction I was expecting I must admit," he said slowly, his head slowly turning to look at her. Even in the dim light of the alley, which her eyes had now adjusted to, she could see his eyes seeming to gleam at her. "But quite an impressive display I must say."

Molly blushed at that.

"Now, I think we should be getting back home. Molly, come with us and we will explain everything once we are back at Baker Street." She wanted to say something to him, even tried idly to gesture in the direction of her house up the alley, but he was already striding off back to the street. Well, he was striding after a few faltering steps at first. Molly really had hit him quite hard in a very sensitive area.

John looked at her almost sadly and sighed at Sherlock's inability to let anything be explained. "You need to come with us Molly, your home isn't safe. Don't worry, we'll protect you."

That was all she needed really. Without really knowing why, she knew she could trust what John was saying and she had the feeling if it came down to it, both of them would protect her.

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><p>"We've been following them for a few days; we saw them at the hospital first exhibiting some very strange behaviour." Sherlock was pacing around the living room in 221b now, explaining to a still bemused Molly why it had been necessary to bring her to their flat. "Tonight we followed them to a house, your house to be precise, where they promptly smashed down the front door and walked right in. Don't you have an alarm system? You really should have an alarm system when you live in central London; I had assumed you'd at least know that."<p>

"They broke in to my house?" asked Molly, completely ignoring Sherlock's barbed comment. It wasn't really that she ignored it, she more didn't hear it. As soon as he'd said they'd broken in, her head went spinning. They'd just walked right into her house, like it didn't matter.

"Yes," replied John instead, sitting down beside her on the sofa and holding out a cup of tea.

"I might need something stronger than that," said Molly, staring at him with wide eyes.

John smiled at her and laid a hand on her now shaking hand. "This will be better, trust me."

Molly decided to take the doctor's advice and took the mug from him. She hadn't even realised her hand was shaking until she felt a slosh of warm liquid on her fingers. Looking down at the mug, she couldn't understand how she hadn't felt those tremors before. It was like she was looking at someone else's hand. John squeezed her other hand reassuringly which caused Molly to take a deep breath to try and calm her nerves. Thank god John was sat next to her; she certainly needed to know there was someone nearby who wanted to keep her feeling calm.

"Are we done? Can I continue or would you like to finish this little domestic scene?" Sherlock's voice dripped with that usual disdain that sprung up when people tried to deal with emotion.

"Sherlock," John growled in a low voice, the look he gave to Sherlock the one he usually reserved when he needed to shut people up with just a look. A look, which of course, did not work on Sherlock Holmes.

"I was in mid flow when you two helpfully interrupted me. I do not appreciate it," he responded, before he began to pace again in order to finish his story in the most dramatic way possible. "They did not remain in the house long. It appears they were not after any items. Instead, they climbed into a large 4x4 they had parked a little further up the street. One of those hideous looking thing's with tinted windows that is meant to show off wealth or instil fear in others. At that point, we ascertained that they must not be looking for an item, but more a person. They were now waiting for your arrival at home, presumably so they could kidnap you. I imagine its information they are after, though I have yet to figure out what information they believe you of all people to be in possession of."

Sherlock raised a hand as both Molly and John opened there mouths to speak. "I am nearly finished, and then there can be questions. With that established, we decided that the best course of action would be to intercept you before you arrived home. As you had not arrived yet, it was very easy to figure out that you had been kept late at work. You follow the same route home every night; you are after all a creature of habit, so I decided that we should wait for you in the alley. That way we could stop you before the men saw you, but also prevent a scene on the street which might alert them to your being nearby. I had hoped to be able to keep you quiet to ensure that they didn't hear your voice at all and suspect you were on your way. Unfortunately, I wasn't quite expecting that reaction."

"I did tell you we should just wait at the entrance of the alley, then stop you as you walked past and quietly explain. Instead, you decided to attack her," John sighed, making sure to jump in while Sherlock's mind seemed to drift back to the fact that quiet Molly had kneed him quite spectacularly in the groin.

"For once," said Sherlock, almost through gritted teeth. "For once, I will concede that you may have had the better plan of action."

"And that, Molly, is why we surprised you in an alley and then brought you back to our flat." John said it all the while staring at Sherlock for actually admitting that he had made a mistake. Sort of. When he had finished speaking, he turned to look at Molly to find her face was white and her eyes were staring off into the distance. "Molly?"

Slowly, Molly turned her head to look at him. "There are men waiting outside my house to kidnap me and probably torture me for information." Her voice cracked as she spoke, the statement hanging heavy in the air between them.

"I imagine that torture would be employed if you did not give up whatever is they think you have. By the looks of the men, mostly physical torture, they didn't look like they have the brains to think up any clever mental tortures." Sherlock's matter of fact tones sounded so bored about it all, so bored by the idea of Molly being harmed by these men.

"I'm going to be sick," said Molly, dropping the half drank mug on the floor. John grabbed her arm and quickly pulled her towards the bathroom. He held her hair back as she retched and vomited into the toilet, tears starting to roll down her cheeks as she did. John even rubbed her back gently, his mind cataloguing the ways he was going to hurt Sherlock for his blatant insensitivity.

"Molly, you're safe here. I promise you we are going to keep you safe. Whoever those men are, they aren't going to get near you," John said when had finally stopped throwing up. He pulled a few tissues out of a box he kept in the cupboard under the sink and handed them to her. She accepted them without a word and started to clean up her face. However, Molly found she couldn't stop crying, her face just stayed wet no matter how hard she wiped at her eyes. Eventually she just flung the tissues into the toilet and sat up. John let go her hair, which allowed her to turn around and look at him. John didn't think he'd ever felt so sorry for Molly. She was kneeling on the bathroom floor, her eyes red, her cheeks flushed and tears pouring down her face. She was white as a sheet as well, making those red eyes stand out even more. John didn't even think about it, he quickly slid off the edge of the bath to sit on the floor next to her and pulled her into his arms.

Sherlock came to the bathroom door to see what was happening; it had after all been quite a while since Molly had run off to be sick. The sight confused him a little. John and Molly were both sitting on the bathroom floor; John was holding Molly tight against him, gently stroking her hair. Molly was crying it seemed as her body shook while she curled up against John. The smell was potent, that mixture of vomit and bile making his nostrils flare. John looked up at Sherlock, looking as though he was ready to murder him. Sherlock took the hint and wandered back to the living room to sulk. Why did no one appreciate that he had rescued Molly from what would certainly not have been a pleasant experience?

"Molly, maybe you should lie down and get some sleep," John said it slowly, Molly sniffling loudly and nodding her head in agreement. "Come on, you can have my bed. I would give you Sherlock's just to spite him, but you really don't want to go near his room."

Molly laughed in that snorting way people do when they try to laugh through tears. That made John smile, glad to hear a laugh from her. Carefully, he helped her stand up and then guided her across the hall to his room. John's mind frame of 'once a soldier, always a soldier' meant that thankfully the room was immaculately neat and tidy. Steering Molly, he got her to sit down on the edge of the bed. She looked so drained and worn out he wasn't sure she even knew which way was up right now. Kneeling down, he quickly unlaced her boots and pulled them off.

"I haven't got any pyjamas," she said suddenly, looking thoroughly puzzled by that idea. John smiled up at her.

"That doesn't matter right now, just try and sleep," he said, standing up now and helping her to move round to lie on the bed. She flopped down onto the bed rather ungracefully, her head crashing onto the pillow with a loud thump. John located the blanket he kept for winter on top of his wardrobe and placed it over her. "We'll sort everything out properly in the morning."

"Thanks," Molly slurred before yawning, her mouth opening wider than John had ever imagined he'd see without someone dislocating their jaw. Before he'd even reached the door, he heard her start to breathe a little more deeply as she drifted off to sleep. Turning the light off, he closed the door quietly resolving to let her sleep as long as she needed. The sofa wasn't that uncomfortable anyway.

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><p>Molly had strange dreams that night. In one dream, she heard two men arguing loudly about cleaning and tact, which seemed a strange combination of topics. There was a violin in one of her dreams; it seemed to dance across a night sky playing a soft, melodic tune. Then she dreamt of a black 4x4 and men with piercing red eyes. That one made her wake up with a start.<p>

Something didn't feel right when she came to her senses. The bed wasn't right. The room wasn't right. She wasn't right. Pushing herself up slowly with her arms, she stared down at an unfamiliar pillow. "I don't have white pillowcases," she said quietly before flipping herself over so she was sitting up in the bed. A dark blue blanket was lying over her legs, though it was starting to slide off. The room certainly wasn't hers, too neat and far too plain. "Where the hell am I?" she said out loud, her voice sounding very croaky. That was when she realised her mouth did not taste nice at all. It tasted like a hangover, but she didn't think she was drunk.

A knock at the door sent her into a blind panic for a moment, her eyes darting around to find a weapon.

"Molly, are you awake? It's John."

Molly let out a breath she didn't even remember she'd been holding. The sudden remembrance of what was going on hit her like a freight train.

"Molly," John said slowly, opening the door a fraction to peer in. It was a good job he did, as he could see that she was starting to have a panic attack. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her eyes not focusing on anything and her face turning red. Pushing the door fully open, he darted across to sit down on the bed and placed his hands on either side of her face. He pulled her head up so she was looking directly at him, her eyes trying to focus on him. "Molly, you are having a panic attack. We need to get you breathing normally again. Now just look at me and starting focusing on breathing. Deep breath in and deep breath out. Deep breath in and deep breath out."

For a moment it didn't seem like it was getting through to her, but then there started to be a rhythm to her breathing. A rhythm that became steadily more regular as her breathing started to return to normal. At last, Molly seemed to have returned to her normal, if shaken self. John let go of her face now and smiled. Molly smiled sheepishly back at him.

"Thanks."

"Don't worry," he responded. "Breakfast?"

Molly nodded at him, suddenly very aware there was nothing in her stomach. Following him out into the kitchen, she noticed that there was a very definite smell of cleaning products.

"I'm sorry I made such a mess last night, I should have cleaned it up," she said quite suddenly, her voice still sounding very rough.

"It's fine," John said, pulling out a chair at the table for her to sit at. "I tried to make Sherlock clean it up, but he didn't see why he was responsible for any of it. Mrs Hudson heard us and came up to see what was happening. As soon as she found out what had happened, she went to work to clean everything up and berated Sherlock the entire time. He's sulking now, complete with violin playing."

Molly suddenly smiled broadly, "I thought that was all dreams. Guess not."

The two of them now found themselves laughing about the idea of Sherlock Holmes sulking. They were both still laughing a little as John started to make some breakfast for Molly. He had just popped some bread in the toaster while the kettle boiled when he heard a loud gasp behind him. Spinning round, he found that Sherlock had decided to join them.

He was wearing only his boxer shorts and an open dressing gown.

Molly was staring so hard at the table John thought she might burn a hole through it, especially given how bright red her cheeks were.

"For goodness sake Sherlock, at least fasten the damn dressing gown," John said with an exasperated tone.

"How I choose to dress in my flat isn't usually a problem," he spat back, glaring at John.

"We have a guest."

"Oh she deals with naked bodies every day, how is this any worse?"

John decided he couldn't even be bothered to dignify that with a response and turned back to the now boiled kettle.

"Besides," sighed Sherlock. "You two were so loud with your giggling I couldn't concentrate anymore."

Swallowing hard, Molly looked back at him, ready to apologise for disturbing him. As hard as she tried to her eyes to flick straight up to his face, it didn't work. How could he just stand there, his naked torso on display and not expect her to look? There was more definition there than she'd expected in a way, his skin looked so pale next to the dark boxer shorts. Her eyes almost wandered lower when she noticed that a bruise was starting to form on his abdomen. She started to wonder where that had come from before she remembered that it had come from her.

Now her eyes snapped up to his, but it was too late. He had seen her looking and was now staring at her with a most curious expression. It was like he had never seen a woman looking at him like that before, like what she was doing was totally new and unexpected.

"Last night," she stuttered. "Your stomach. I'm sorry. I panicked."

"Don't apologise to him Molly," she heard John say behind her, but she didn't look at him. She couldn't look away from Sherlock. It was like his eyes had some kind of power that just held her there. "He deserved it."

Somewhere deep in Sherlock's twisted mind, he found himself looking upon Molly as a new experiment. She was clearly besotted with him, the way her eyes had focused on his body. Her eyes dilated wide, her breathing seemed to quicken up and that bright red blush was now like a warm flush across her cheeks. It was a new experience in a way, to have someone whom he had worked with so blatantly observe his physique. He wondered how far he could push it, how far he could manipulate her feelings. Her reactions would be interesting, she was not a strong character in many ways, easy to mould to his will. It would be an interesting experiment he had to admit.

Then a tiny voice suddenly sparked up in his brain, a rare moment when the conscience of Sherlock Holmes reared its head. _It's Molly. You need to help her and protect her, not break her._

Now he focused on her again and he could see how painfully small she seemed. Still so shaken by last night's events, her face was pale under that flush of desire and her eyes looked so dark and puffy. It was true, he had to help her. He actually wanted to help her. With little fuss, he pulled the dressing gown closed and tied the belt into a tight knot before taking a seat at the table.

"John is right, what I did was inappropriate," Sherlock said quietly at last, causing John's mouth to drop open.

"Is that an apology?" asked John incredulously.

Sherlock just looked at Molly, resolved that he wasn't actually going to say the word sorry, but hopeful that she would at least understand the sentiment behind it.

"Okay," said Molly at last, turning back to John with a smile. "Is that coffee ready?"

John just looked between the two of them, not quite sure if he could believe what had just happened, but happy to accept that some kind of truce had now formed between them.

Breakfast was eaten in a comfortable silence. Molly was ravished and practically inhaled the toast as soon as John put it down in front of her. Sherlock sipped at his coffee looking contemplative. As it was nearly lunchtime, John had already had breakfast a few hours ago, so just sat trying to decide what they were going to next. It was Molly that broke the silence though once she'd drained her mug of coffee.

"So, what am I going to do about work, along with clothes and essentials? You said they've been to the hospital, so I don't imagine it'll be very safe going there. And I certainly can't go home to get my things."

John looked at with a furrowed brow while Sherlock merely raised one elegant eyebrow. Last night Molly Hooper had been mess and yet now, now she was talking like this was just an inconvenience. John put it down to spending too much time near Sherlock, as if she had planned for something like happening all because she knew Sherlock. John started to wonder if other people had 'in case of an emergency caused because I met Sherlock Holmes' plan.

"You are quite right Molly, we really need you where at least one of us can keep an eye on you," responded Sherlock. "I'm afraid you'll have to go and buy clothes and things. John can prepare a sick note to be dropped off at the hospital. I'm sure he can come up with some creative illness."

John nodded and smiled at Molly. "I guess we'll be off shopping this afternoon then."

"What John more accurately means is that he and his gun will be accompanying you around London while you purchase what you need," said Sherlock, rising from the table. He was almost out of the kitchen when he turned back with a smirk. "Though Molly I must say, you could probably defend yourself better than him given last night's performance."

That comment made Molly's cheeks burn bright red again, while Sherlock winked at John before disappearing towards his room. John had to admit, this was going to be an interesting situation.

Twenty minutes later, Molly and John were outside the front of 221b trying to hail a cab. Molly had managed to pull her hair into a ponytail, thankful she at least kept a comb in her handbag. John had kindly pointed out the mouthwash in his bathroom so she could feel a little fresher. She was still wearing yesterday's clothes and was desperate for a shower. Rooting around in her handbag, she grumbled quietly to herself.

"Are you okay?" asked John, turning his head to look at her while still waving his arm about in case a taxi drove past.

"Just looking for my purse," she replied.

"Oh, don't worry about that. You don't need to pay for anything; Sherlock has graciously lent us a credit card."

Molly nearly dropped her handbag in shock. Sherlock had lent them a credit card? Surely this meant the apocalypse was coming. But there was a curious smirk on John's face as she pulled the card from his pocket, like she was missing a joke. Taking it from his outstretched hands, she examined it closely.

"Do I presume M Holmes is a relative of Sherlock?" she asked at last, suddenly aware they were probably about to do something a bit illegal.

"It's his brother. Sherlock develops surprisingly light fingers when he's near his brother," he replied, turning back to see a taxi was indicating to pull over to them. "I believe the credit limit is somewhere around the £5000 mark, so I'm sure we can get everything you need."

Walking up to the taxi, he opened the door and turned back to Molly with a grin. "Shall we away my lady?" Molly smiled back at him and rushed over to the taxi. John was glad to see her smile; it was certainly a relief after last night. Now he just had to make sure she stayed safe while they were out in London.

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><p>Sherlock was pacing around the living room when he heard the front door open and the sound of talking drift to his ears. He had assumed that the two of them would be gone a couple of hours, but it was now well after 4pm. As they walked into the room, he quickly took stock of them. They were carrying two large bags each, nothing from any particularly expensive shops. One bag he could see was filled with personal hygiene products; another just had towels, and the last two he presumed was clothes and shoes. There were smiling and happy, had certainly had some food while they were out and maybe even a few drinks. He scowled furiously at them.<p>

"You could have informed me it was going to take so long to do your shopping," he said, eyes trying to bore into them.

"Sherlock, when someone has to buy their essentials, it can take a while," sighed John, putting his two bags down. Molly just gripped tighter to hers, suddenly nervous of this angry Sherlock.

"I don't imagine the alcohol has much to do with buying clothes and shampoo," he responded, his eyes narrowing. "Besides, it's not like much has been bought anyway. And with all that money on that card, you still went to the cheap shops."

"Sherlock," John's voice had a warning tone to it, but Sherlock hadn't noticed it. Molly swallowed hard, that tightness forming in her throat like she was about to cry. Turning round, head down so John didn't see the tears forming; she grabbed the bags at John's feet and began to scuttle away.

"Just going to put these down," she called back, trying to make her voice not crack as she dashed into John's room. Throwing the bags to the floor, she leaned against the wall by the door and willed herself not to cry. Sherlock was not going to make her cry again, he just wasn't. Through the half closed door she heard John and Sherlock arguing. Sherlock seemed oblivious that he had been hurtful; John tried desperately to make him see that he just kept being inappropriate. After a while, she heard the slam of a door and nothing but silence.

Footsteps were coming up the corridor, making Molly push off the wall and rush to sit on the bed. She pulled one of the bags into the bed and started to examine it very thoroughly when someone knocked on the door. Looking up, she saw John sticking his head around the door with that sheepish smile he always had when Sherlock said something stupid.

"Sorry about him. He's gone out in a huff now. Want to come and watch some telly with me?"

"Okay," Molly said with a bright smile, trying to mask the fact she didn't like the idea of Sherlock and John arguing. She knew they'd probably argued before, but that didn't make her feel any better.

A couple of hours of very bad telly and a few drinks later, Molly was feeling much better. She found John enjoyed mocking television just as much as she did, so they had been laughing so hard she'd managed to forget for a while that men were waiting somewhere to kidnap her.

Eventually, they heard the front door shut and looked at each other awkwardly. It seemed Sherlock had finally returned and neither was sure what to expect when he walked in. When he did, the first thing John noticed was that he was carrying a bag from a mobile phone shop. The first thing Molly noticed was that he looked almost awkward, maybe even embarrassed if that was possible for Sherlock to be.

Suddenly, he thrust out the bag in Molly's direction and cleared his throat. "They might have access to your phone, so I got you a new one to use for now. You should put mine and John's numbers in as soon as possible. You know, just in case." Molly took the bag from his outstretched hand, which shot back to his side like he'd been burnt.

"Mycroft's not going to like it if that's all going on his card," said John slowly, trying to make Sherlock understand that a contract phone on his credit card would be something he'd notice.

"It's not on his card. It's on mine," Sherlock said quickly before almost running out of the room. Molly and John stared after him, not entirely sure what had happened. Then they stared at each other.

"You know, he's never done that before," said John at last. Molly pulled the phone box out of the bag and stared. It was one of the latest smartphones and by the looks of the paperwork, on one of the more expensive contracts. "Bloody hell," she heard John say under his breath.

Molly just stared at it for a while, trying to process what had just happened. Sherlock Holmes, the man who always belittled her and made jokes at her expense, had bought her a phone. Without being asked by John it seemed.

"Did Sherlock Holmes just buy me a present?" she asked at last, looking up at John who still looked completely shocked.

"Well," he said at last, running a hand through his hair. "There's a first time for everything."


	2. Part Two: Assess the Candidate

Sleep did not come easily to Molly that night. Every time she got comfortable, some strange new thought would pop into her head. Sherlock's rather dramatic appearance and his sudden decision to be a human being had thrown both Molly and John. They kept trying to watch television, but in the end they decided to set up this new phone. John just kept staring at it like it was a trap or something, like Sherlock had done something to it for an experiment. That was when Molly found out that he was still shocked that Sherlock had moved all his experiments off the kitchen table while they'd been out shopping yesterday. Sherlock hadn't ever done it when John had asked before, and all he'd really asked him was to make the place more presentable. Molly couldn't understand it at all, she'd been in their flat less than 24 hours, and there was no way Sherlock was doing this to be nice or because he felt bad about being mean to her. So what was it? Maybe he just wanted to make things normal for her, to put her at ease. Molly didn't think Sherlock actually knew what normal was though.

Eventually, she was sick of tossing and turning and decided to get a drink. Usually she would have warmed up some milk, but she didn't want to disturb John sleeping on the sofa. Cold milk would be just as good, she was sure she'd seen some in the fridge earlier. She was quiet as she could be as she entered the kitchen, hoping the light from the fridge didn't wake up John. As she pulled the door open a little, she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her. Spinning round, she found Sherlock was sat at the kitchen table facing the fridge. The light had fallen right on his face and he was furiously blinking to adapt to the sudden change in light levels. Molly stood by the fridge, the door swinging right open to bathe him in its yellow glow. She swallowed hard as she looked at him, hoping she hadn't annoyed him.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I couldn't sleep, I needed a drink."

Sherlock said nothing in reply. His eyes had adjusted now and he was looking up at her. It was like he was looking at her for the first time, analysing her so he could better understand her. She was now painfully aware she wasn't wearing a bra under her vest top. Folding her arms across her chest, she went to glare at him for staring, but now his eyes held hers in their strange gaze. It was like she was rooted to the spot, unable to look away from those eyes.

Having never seen her outside of more formal surroundings, either at work or that dreadful Christmas party, Sherlock took the opportunity to look at her properly now. Looking down, he took note of her bare feet. Chipped nail varnish, an electric blue by the look of it. The pyjama trousers were very loose, the light from the fridge shining through the thin material. They were clearly too big for her, especially given the way they hung off her hips. They had slid down enough to expose the top of underwear, which appeared to have owls on it. For some reason, he found that strange. Little cartoon owls on her underwear, it seemed almost childish. Maybe there was a childish streak to Molly, a fond remembrance of a childhood spent watching cartoons that she wanted to recreate. He could imagine that she had a few of those awful Disney films somewhere in her house. She probably knew all the words too.

His eyes moved up to find that her lower abdomen was exposed. Crossing her arms had caused the top to ride up, a silvery streak on her skin indicating a scar. There were still purple blotches, only in the past few years, and the location suggested an appendectomy. The folded arms pressed down hard on her chest, desperate to hide the fact she currently wore no bra. Sherlock didn't know why she cared so much; her breasts were of little interest to him. Her long fingers dug into the top of arms, the nails short, clean and well cared for. That explained the nail varnish on the toes. Couldn't have her fingernails painted, and certainly not in such a garish colour, she hid it on her feet so only she knew about it.

At last he let his eyes stop on her face. Her eyes were still fixed on him, the dilation still betraying her feelings towards him. Under her eyes, he could see the dark circles she went to great pains to conceal with makeup. Long eyelashes, usually coated in black mascara, he found were actually closer in colour to her hair. He could see a few marks on her skin, betraying the first signs of blemishes starting to form. The sides of her hair had been pulled back, but the rest hung loose. Sherlock found himself oddly intrigued by Molly. This was the first time he had ever seen her in what could be described as her natural state and it was a whirl of contradictions to what he had expected. Clothes too big, cartoon animal underwear and garish coloured toe nails that only she would ever see. It all just seemed odd to him.

A loud groan from the living room and the shuffling as John rearranged himself on the sofa made Molly jump. She broke the eye contact, her arms dropping to her sides as she tried to peer round the corner to see if John had woken up. Sherlock took a cursory look at her chest before looking back up at her concerned face, he had been right there was nothing of interest for him there. When it appeared John hadn't awoken, Molly looked back at Sherlock who just looked deeply bored now. Without a word, she shut the fridge door and hurried back to bed. As she lay there trying to sleep again, she found herself unable to shake how much Sherlock had studied her, studied her body. It was unsettling in a way, to be scrutinised by those seemingly emotionless eyes. She wasn't quite sure if this it had been a good thing, though she was sure she'd find out in the morning. The thought of the morning reminded her of his state of undress that morning and Molly found she was able to drift off to sleep with some very pleasant thoughts.

* * *

><p>Daily life at 221b Baker Street had to find a new rhythm now, which Sherlock certainly didn't take kindly to for the first few days. All his experiments had been moved out of the way to accommodate their guest, which infuriated him. On top of that, he found that his mornings were full of chatter and laughter. John would go out to check on Molly's house (the car was still there) and the hospital (again, the car was still there) before heading back to the flat so Mrs Hudson would come up to join Molly for a cup of tea and to give her some company. Sherlock was always in the room, but Mrs Hudson liked to point out he wasn't always good company. He didn't mind really, gave him a chance to try and figure out this strange character that it seemed he had misunderstood. The clothes were unexpected, all loose fitting jeans and baggy jumpers. She'd wander round the flat in bare feet, painted toenails all on display, unless she was on the sofa when she'd curl her legs up. The full face of makeup and liberal application of perfume every day caught him off guard at first. He assumed it was just for his benefit, but it didn't take him long to notice that Molly Hooper was certainly falling out of love with him. Then he put it down to self esteem. She needed that mask on, that face she put onto the world and the confidence that gave her. He had seen her with her mask breaking that first night, and the second he had seen her without the mask completely. There was a change in her when she had that makeup, she held herself differently. It was strange how some chemicals and pigments could do that.<p>

The fact she was falling out of love with him was quite obvious to both him and John. When John would arrive back after his daily checks, the three of them would continue their attempts to figure out what on earth it was that Molly knew that would put her life in danger. Sherlock, as always, had a scathing remark for everything she said. It only took, John would say, a few hours before she started to bite back. The first time she actually showed that she could be just as sarcastic as Sherlock the look of shock on his face was so priceless John found himself laughing so hard it hurt. Never had he imagined that Molly would stand up to Sherlock like that, but it seemed that seeing that she could actually overpower the great man, with a knee to the groin, was doing wonders for her confidence. Sherlock's definite confirmation she was no longer so in love with him as to barely speak to him was when he burst into her room one morning without warning. A sudden thought had come to mind and he desperately needed to talk to her about it. Flinging the door open he found that she in the process of getting dressed and was currently only wearing jeans and her bra. Once again, he found himself bemused by Molly as the bra was one of those very lacy bras usually advertised as being an instant turn on to men. It certainly did nothing for Sherlock, but he imagined the right man seeing her surprisingly toned stomach and pert breasts in such a garment would like it. When the hairbrush hit him in the chest, it took him by surprise. So lost in considering her underwear, he hadn't even noticed her throw it. Molly did not look embarrassed or timid now though, she just stared him down. "Get. Out," she said slowly, dragging out the two words between gritted teeth. Sherlock had taken the hint, it was a rather obvious one after all, and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. John was stood outside the bathroom down the corridor with his arms folded shaking his head before disappearing back into the bathroom. Sherlock mused that he still had a lot to understand when it came to Molly; his view of her seemed to be changing all the time.

Soon though, a few days turned into a week and a week turned into two and suddenly it had been three weeks and they were no closer to figuring things out. Everyday John went to check if the cars were still waiting for her, and every day they were there. They spent long afternoons and evenings trying to go through things to figure out what Molly might know. Sherlock was getting increasingly exasperated by her memory, which could be a little vague, and often stomped off to sulk. Most nights, Molly and John just sat on the sofa and watched telly for hours. She was starting to feel a burden now, disturbing the balance of their flat. John just kept reassuring her that they'd rather see her safe than in danger just to suit Sherlock's erratic moods. It was nice to sit and talk together, to bond over strange medical mysteries and the odd man they called a friend.

Sherlock would sit with his door open and listen to them talk, not for the sake of his own ego at being called nice things, but just to understand the two of them a bit better. He knew John quite well, but even he could surprise him sometimes. Molly was still a mystery sometimes. Wearing cute cartoon underpants, but sexy lacy bras. Putting on full makeup just to sit around in the flat. The ability to drink more milk in a day then he and John could go through in a week (he was convinced she was a cat somehow). The fact she could be as scathing in her comments as he could and yet still appeared to have some very deep feelings there. She was so strong in her mind and yet so vulnerable in her emotions. It was like she was a walking contradiction. Which was impossible, surely that was a title reserved only for himself?

On day twenty three of her extended stay, Molly found herself home alone with Sherlock. John had gone to see his sister, something that had been arranged long before all this had happened, while Mrs Hudson had disappeared off somewhere. For a while they just sat in the living room on silence. Molly was curled up on the sofa reading one of the books she'd found in John's room while Sherlock just sat staring off into space. Molly was fairly sure that was the way he always looked when nothing was happening, fingers together and eyes slightly unfocused. When he sat forward, uncrossing his legs, Molly glanced over the top of the book at him. He was looking at her.

"Molly Hooper, let's go shopping," he said, which made her lower the book to look at him inquisitively.

"Shopping?" she asked, trying to figure out what was going on in that strange little head of his.

"Yes shopping. I believe you ran out of perfume three days ago and mascara not much after. As we are no closer to ascertaining what those gentlemen want with you, I thought you might like to acquire some more."

"And it would be a good way to check if those men know I'm here and are just waiting for me to leave your flat," she responded, raising her eyebrows in that way to try and tell him she knew what he was up to.

"Well, there is that too," he said at last, acutely aware that she was starting to learn how his mind works more quickly than he'd expected.

"Right, I'll just go get changed and grab my bag. I could do with some other bits and pieces too and some fresh air would be nice."

With that, she was off towards John's room. Yet again, Molly had confounded Sherlock. Surely the idea that they might get attacked when they walked out onto the street was meant to be frightening, not a cue to go and get dolled up?

When she reappeared a few minutes later, her usual baggy outfit had been replaced with tighter fitting jeans and a blouse. Her hair was loose for once, falling around her face in untidy waves. Another look Sherlock had not seen before, trying to quickly take it all in and understand it. "Shall we go then?" she said, breaking through his concentration. Sherlock just nodded and followed her out of the flat.

* * *

><p>The taxi journey to Oxford Street had been uneventful. It didn't appear that anyone was following them so far, and at least they were unlikely to strike at them on such a busy street full of members of the public. When the taxi had dropped them off, they just stood for a moment looking down the street. Then Sherlock leaned down to whisper in Molly's ear, "Shall we try a little experiment I've wanted to investigate for a while?"<p>

"Sure," she replied. Again, she didn't even ask what it was, just went along with it. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders before looping his arm through Molly's, made a great deal easier by the fact she appeared to have bought some shoes with a heel to them, and started to walk down the street. Molly reached across with her other hand and laid it on his arm, a soft smile gracing her lips. "You've never walked down a street with a woman as a couple?"

It seemed he wasn't as impossible to read as he thought he had been. He could not fathom how after only three weeks she had come to learn so much about him.

"After all those pictures came out and that dear blog of John's, I have apparently become somewhat of a minor celebrity. A minor celebrity whom everyone seems to believe is in a relationship with my flatmate. I have been wondering what the reaction would be if people who recognised me thought me to be heterosexual instead, if that would change the attention they graced me with."

"So you want to see if walking down the street arm in arm with me is going to get you less gay jokes?" she asked, glancing up at him as they walked. He looked down at her and those eyes filled with mischief and mirth.

"If you want to describe it at its basest level," he replied drolly.

"I like everything at its basest level Sherlock," she responded quickly, a wicked smirk gracing her lips. Innuendo? That was new as well.

When they reached the department store to get the perfume and makeup, Sherlock was quick to point out that dear Mycroft was going to be paying again she could get anything she wanted. Her eyes lit up at that and she was suddenly off to one of the more expensive counters. It seemed she already knew what she looking for, making small talk with the girl at the counter before coming back to Sherlock with a small box.

"I've wanted to treat myself to some of this for ages, so thank you," she said, already starting to wander off towards a different counter.

"Molly," Sherlock said, sounding a little exasperated. "That is the smallest bottle of that perfume you could have bought. You could probably by one of everything at that counter with the amount of money on this card, and yet you still only pick the smallest bottle."

Turning round to face him, she looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. "I only wanted a small bottle. Now, the makeup I need is over there. As you have the card, you'd better come with me." That was all she needed to say apparently as she was off again. Sherlock started after her nearly dumfounded. That tiny bottle would hardly last her a few weeks, but that was all she wanted. There she was with the ability to buy the largest bottle of something she had denied herself of for so long, but turned it down in favour of something so small he couldn't understand why she could not have bought it herself. She certainly wasn't poor; it wasn't something out of her price range. That's when he noted that the makeup counter she was at was one of the cheaper ones. By the looks of things it was the same kind of makeup he had noticed when she had left her handbag on the table one day. She was buying the same makeup as always and considered the smallest bottle of perfume an extravagance. Molly Hooper was becoming the most infuriating woman he'd ever met, which was saying something after Irene Adler.

Sherlock said nothing to Molly as he paid for her items, she was chatting happily away to the woman at the till. When they turned to leave, they found their way blocked by two very happy looking young women.

"You're him aren't you? You're Sherlock Holmes?" said one excitedly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Indeed," he replied with a bored tone.

"Could we get a picture with you?" asked the other, holding her phone up to show the camera on it. Molly could see the annoyance on his face and could imagine the appalling things he was about to say to these poor girls, so jumped in.

"Of course he will, won't you dear?" she said it with a cheery smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. Sherlock turned to look at her completely baffled. She leaned a little closer and whispered in his ear, "Think of it as part of your experiment."

That little light bulb went on in Sherlock's mind and he turned back to the two with the most normal looking smile he could imagine.

"No problem at all. Would you take the picture for them?" he asked Molly, who quickly took the phone from the now grinning girl's hand. Sherlock put one arm around each girl's shoulder and smiled as she took the picture. Once the phone had been returned, Molly stood next to him again, taking his hand in hers.

"So, are you two, like...?" asked the one with the phone.

"A couple?" asked Molly. "Yep. And a very happy one at that."

"Can we take a picture of you two together? My mate will never believe that you're straight!" cried the other one, suddenly very excited.

"Sure," said Sherlock genially, a tone Molly had never heard before she was sure. A picture was taken of them, heads leaning together with those smiles that happy couple always have.

The excited one could barely contain herself and suddenly blurted out, "How about a kiss?" before she could help herself. The one with the phone just glared at her friend for her outburst.

"Come on Sherlock," said Molly. "One little kiss for the camera."

Now Sherlock had come to a moment he had not been expecting. John had made it very clear that he was not take advantage of her feelings for any twisted little game. It had been clear at the start that Molly was in love with him in some odd way, but that did seem to have changed over the past three weeks. On top of that, she was the one who had suggested all this to help his experiment. Perhaps, in another way, Molly needed to do this to confirm one way or another if she still felt anything for him in that manner.

Sadly Molly didn't let him consider it for much longer as she reached up and turned his head to face hers. There was that gleam of mischief in her eyes and a smirk on her lips, like she was thoroughly enjoying this game, before she moved forwards to kiss him firmly on the lips. Knowing that for the sake of accurate results in this experiment he should make it look real, he kissed her back. It was an odd feeling kissing Molly Hooper. He felt no desire there really, no need to proceed any further in terms of physical contact. Her hand was in his hair, those long fingers just resting gently in his curls. He let one hand touch on her hip not far from where he'd seen that scar. It was fairly clinical as he assessed the feel of her lips, the taste of her mouth and what having her hand in his hair was like. Molly's mind however was racing. The thrill of kissing the man she had quite a few naughty dreams about, the mischief in playing all this up because he wanted to experiment on these women and the realisation that he had a hand on her hip. Then it dawned on her. If he had at the moment pushed his hand under her top or started whispering dirty things in her ear, she probably would have pushed up against the counter and tried to have sex with him right there. It was just lust though; she felt no emotional connection there. She just really liked the idea of having rough, dirty sex with him; the same idea that she really liked when it came to about half a dozen famous actors.

Breaking apart, they looked at each other for a moment. The loud squeal of the excited young woman made them turn to look. The two of them were huddled together over the phone, clearly already messaging everyone they knew and probably putting the picture up online somewhere. The women looked up at the two of them, giggled and ran away rather quickly. Sherlock now looked to Molly feeling deeply confused and slightly used. Molly just smiled at him, "Welcome to the world of having fans Sherlock."

She went to walk away, but Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her back close to him. He looked down at her with a strange look. "Molly, John made me promise I wouldn't manipulate the feelings you have for me. I need you to understand that I do not feel the same way that you do. That kiss was part of my experiment."

"I know," responded Molly. "I've realised I just don't feel that way about you anymore. You're a friend, yes, but I don't want to date you.

"Oh," said Sherlock slowly, suddenly very aware that Molly Hooper of all people was turning him down.

"Don't look so down Sherlock," she said with a smile, placing a hand over the one that was still gripping her wrist. "I'd still sleep with you so it's not a total loss."

Once again, Molly had Sherlock lost for words. There was clearly something very wrong in her brain somewhere, he just couldn't quite figure out what.

* * *

><p>For a while after that, the two of them just walked down Oxford Street, now holding hands, but saying nothing. Eventually they reached Marble Arch and Sherlock decided to steer them towards Hyde Park. Too many things had happened with Molly, his head was spinning trying to make sense of it all. He needed to sit down and talk her. The moment he found an unoccupied park bench, he let go of her hand and sat down, waiting for her to join him. Still without speaking, Molly sat down next to him ensuring she was sat close enough to still make them look like a couple while arranging her bags on the other side of her. Their thighs were touching; an idea which not so long ago would have made Molly's heart beat so fast she probably would have fainted or something. Now, it was oddly comfortable to just sit next to him in silence watching the world go by. It was nice to know that in the current madness that was her life, she had someone nearby, even if it was someone as tactless as Sherlock Holmes.<p>

"Molly," said Sherlock at last. She turned to look at him, though she found he wasn't looking at her. He was staring straight ahead with an expression that seemed to imply he was finding it hard to say something to her. His lips were tight together and his nose had wrinkled up, which she had to admit was strangely adorable. "I..." he halted. "I do not understand you."

"Are you being serious?" she asked before laughing slightly.

"I am being deadly serious, I would appreciate it if you did not find that so amusing." Sherlock spoke in a low tone and turned to look at her. It did seem from the look on his face that he really was being serious.

"How is it even possible that I of all people can confuse you?" she asked him. "I'm nothing special or unusual."

"Your false modesty is really quite unnecessary and almost insulting you know," he responded coldly. Though as he continued to look at her, he realised she really did think she wasn't important or special at all. He wondered how she could go through her life and spend every day thinking that about herself? How could she possibly think so little of herself?

"So explain to me how you don't understand me," she asked, pushing aside the urge to confront him on his earlier statement.

"Well," he sighed. "Let's take your underwear for example."

"Please tell you haven't spent three weeks thinking about my underwear," she interrupted with the slightest hint of a blush on her face. It seemed she still wasn't quite comfortable to discuss such personal things with him, but he carried on regardless.

"You wear underwear with cartoon characters on, little anthropomorphised creatures, usually designed for those adults who want to ignore the need to grow up and mature. Yet the bras you wear are covered in lace, the kind usually bought by women who wish to instil feelings of lust and desire in those whom they wish to sleep with. It is a complete contradiction. You want to be childlike and innocent and at the same time you wish to consummate some kind of sexual desires."

"Sherlock, is this really what you don't understand? For goodness sake, I bought the pants because they were on offer and I thought they looked nice and comfortable. I bought the bra because I like the lacy ones because occasionally, I do like to feel all feminine. No one else knows about it, but it makes me feel good and that's all I want sometimes."

Sherlock was looking at her like she'd spoken in some strange alien language. It all made perfect sense to her, but it seemed he had to read something into every little thing.

"If you insist, but then there are your clothes. You wear those horrible unflattering things around the flat, and then to come out shopping you decided to put on tight jeans and a blouse which is cut in such a way as to flatter your bust. These things are so vastly different again from what I have seen you wearing in the morgue." He was getting annoyed now, like he couldn't amply explain what it was that he was trying to say. "And that perfume! I gave you the opportunity to buy as much as you want and you buy a tiny bottle and with all those makeup choices, you buy what you always do. None of it makes any sense!"

Molly looked at his strained face, that furious look in his eyes and couldn't help put reach out and put a hand on his arm.

"You don't really understand women do you? I wear those things round the flat because no one has to see. And before you say anything about wearing makeup in the flat, I did that because I hated seeing the dark circles in the mirror every day. I wear what I wear for work because it's practical and plain, well the jumpers were so I could justify a little colour even if they didn't look so flattering. As for what I'm wearing now? I just felt like looking good, I wanted to feel more confident. You need to feel confident when you walk down the street next to you, and you need to look just as good. The perfume was just because I don't like wearing the same perfume all the time, I like to be spontaneous. Finally, I buy the same makeup for the same reason on that night you tried to kidnap me you said I used the same route, I can be a creature of habit."

Sherlock looked at her still feeling deeply confused, but there was something approaching an understanding starting to form in his mind.

"Everything you do," he said slowly. "You just do it to be yourself. Sometimes, you follow social conventions and sometimes you don't. Sometimes you are spontaneous and sometimes you just do the same as always. It's all a contradiction, but it is what works for you."

Molly nodded and smiled, squeezing his arm. "There you go, you understand."

"I don't understand at all, but it appears this is how you choose to live your life so I will just accept it."

The laughing that he had elicited from Molly made him smile, he had found that these three weeks had entirely changed his perception of the lonely girl from the morgue and there was something nice about making her smile. It was the same feeling as when he made John smile. He was working on the theory that this was what friendship was, and now he appeared to have two friends. Not that he would tell anyone that. He'd never hear the end of it if he did.

"You know Sherlock," Molly managed to say at last, breathing hard from the laughing. "I can't live with you two forever. We need to do something."

The sudden change in conversation, but all with Molly still half laughing, caught Sherlock by surprise. Even after that conversation, she still liked to astound him with her sudden changeability.

"I know, but unless we discover what it is those men want with you, I can't see how we can get you living your life again."

"I do have a plan," she responded, that mischievous glint in her eyes once again. "But John isn't going to like it."

Sherlock didn't need to ask more, he knew exactly what her plan would be; it was the exact plan he had had but hadn't dared to air.

"I'm sure we'll persuade him. Though I'm sure you could just strong-arm him into it if we needed," he said, allowing the slightest smile to grace his face that mirrored her own smile once she realised she yet again had an ally in Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Part Three: Acquisition Complete

As John tried to process what had just been said to him, he found himself staring between the two other people in his living room. Sherlock was sat in his chair, legs crossed and hands placed on the armrests. He looked quite calm; it seemed just waiting for his response to the insane. Molly was curled up on the sofa in that cat like position she seemed to favour so much. John hadn't seen her outfit before, nor had he really seen her with her hair down, it was a good look. She appeared to be perfectly content which seemed ridiculous given what she had just put forward. He turned back to look at Sherlock, one more look at Molly and then back to Sherlock again.

"If you have put her up to this Sherlock, I am going to make your life very difficult," he said, pointing an accusing finger at him. Sherlock looked shocked, though he knew fine well that it wasn't exactly a hard idea to come by. He was about to berate John, when Molly coughed so all attention could be turned to her.

"Actually, this was my idea," she said, uncurling herself so she could stretch her legs out in front of her. "We haven't really got anything else we can try."

"I'm sure we can come up with something better than you willingly getting yourself kidnapped and hoping we actually rescue you in time," he sighed, but he already knew the two of them were going to do this even if he didn't agree. It was probably better to go with along with it.

"It'll be fine," Molly responded with a smile. "I trust you both. And if it doesn't work entirely to plan, remember that I have access to a lot of sharp implements in the morgue and know where you both live."

"You've been spending far too much time with Sherlock," John said, smiling despite himself. Molly was certainly a lot more confident around them than she had been three weeks ago, but her devious streak had certainly appeared a lot more strongly the more time she spent with Sherlock. "Fine, we'll try this."

"Excellent," said Sherlock, jumping up from his seat. "Now how do I go about hiring a car for tomorrow evening?"

John reached across to where his laptop was sitting to one side and booted it up. It was only then that what Molly had said hit him. She trusted both of them and she trusted both of them with her own safety, her own life. Given the way Sherlock had treated her over the time they had known her, he was surprised that it had only taken three weeks for her to trust him that much. Then again, when on earth had she reached that level of trust in him too? It wasn't something he wanted to think about so much right now, how much this woman was relying on them, and just went back to trying to find about renting a car for their insane plan.

They had decided to wait until it was getting dark to implement their plan; they had decided that there was more chance of someone interfering in the daylight and therefore increasing the risk of Molly getting hurt. When they had eventually left, John insisted on sitting in the back of the car with Molly to explain to her the best way to deal with a hostage situation. She didn't ask why he would have such information; she could hazard a guess that he had been trained on this when he was in the army. Sherlock's hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke, it was obvious to him that this was one of those things John had actually experienced. John had never told him about being held hostage, it had never really occurred to him to ask. He was sure at some point he would end up bringing it up with him, but now was not the time.

They stopped the car a couple of streets away from Molly's house so that she could get out and walk the rest of the way. They would park just down from her house and wait before following the car to where the men were taking her. It took a few deep breaths before she could convince herself to get out of the car. John got out of the car too, it would be better to have two sets of eyes sitting in the front of the car. She went to walk away from him, but John grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back.

"Molly, you don't have to do this. We can turn back now and figure something else out. I just don't want to see you get hurt," his voice was earnest, a real fear in his eyes betraying that he thought something was going to go wrong.

"I told you, I trust you both. It's going to be fine," she said it with confidence. She really did believe her words, or at least she believed her first words. She trusted them, they would turn up, but there was still a chance something could happen before they got to her. Her stomach churned over the idea of walking into the lion's den, but she couldn't hide anymore.

John nodded and then, quite unexpectedly, pulled her into a tight hug. "We will be there," he said softly. "I swear to god, we will be there."

Molly pulled away from him, tears forming in her eyes. She couldn't figure out what she had done in life to deserve such good people wanting to help her. With that, she turned away and started to walk towards the ambush that awaited her at home. John watched her for a moment before quickly getting into the car. Sherlock started up the engine and drove away without a word. When they found themselves on Molly's road, they stopped just down the street from her house where the black car was still parked outside. With the engine and lights off, they just sat and waiting for Molly to walk up.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them as they watched the house.

"You care about her," said Sherlock, John almost jumping at the sudden noise in the dark silence.

"Yes," he responded. "Of course I do, she's a friend. Why, do you not care about her? I can't imagine you'd be here if you didn't care a little."

"She is the key to solving this case, that is why I am here," replied Sherlock, a strange feeling in his stomach at the realisation that wasn't entirely true. He had started to care about her, he was sure he would even class her as a friend. The idea of admitting that though, unless under extreme duress, was too much to think about. "She's heading to the door now."

John had so many things he wanted to say to Sherlock, how much he despised the idea that he really didn't feel anything towards Molly after spending that much time with her. Now was not the time for that though as Molly was indeed walking up to her front door. She halted when she pushed it open, noticing the broken lock and damage to the door. Hesitantly, she stepped inside.

In the car, the next few minutes felt like an eternity. They waited for Molly to come back out, a thousand worrying ideas filling their minds of what could be happening. John clenched his hand into a fist a few times without even realising what he was doing; he was ready to grab his gun and charge straight in there. Sherlock's hand hovered over the car keys ready to start the engine up and race up to the house. He had noticed John's hand, a sign of preparation for using his gun, which meant if they had to get up there fast he would be ready to jump straight out.

Eventually though, there was movement at the front door. One of the men came out first, a lumbering man with a shaved head who didn't even bother to look up and down the street. He just strode out towards the car. Molly came next, the other men right behind her. It seemed like her hands had been tied behind her back and a sudden flash of light made them realise the man was holding a knife, the point up against the small of her back. John balled both his hands up into fists now, fury overtaking him. Even Sherlock tensed up, having the danger actually placed before him so clearly making him suddenly angry. Molly was walked to the car, the back door opened and she was roughly pushed in. The door was slammed behind her before both men climbed into the front of the car.

As soon as the car had pulled away, Sherlock started up the engine and began to follow them. He had deliberately picked one of those small cars everyone seemed to drive around London. Nothing that would be seen as out of the ordinary as they followed a few cars behind. However after watching the way they had taken Molly to their car, Sherlock was fairly sure he could have followed right behind in an equally ostentatious looking 4x4 and they wouldn't have noticed. There was enough traffic though that they could put a few cars between them just to be totally sure they weren't noticed. Soon the car was starting to move away from central London and they continued to follow the car in silence. Eventually, the car turned into an industrial estate, which Sherlock responded to by driving past the entrance and turning down the street that ran alongside it. Pulling the car up to the kerb, he stopped and turned off the engine.

"Sherlock, they went into the estate, why haven't we followed?" asked John tensely.

"Because if we drive straight in after them, they will know we are following them. I thought you didn't want to put Molly at risk? We need to follow on foot." He responded, already preparing to get out of the car to start the hunt for the car.

"They could be anywhere in there, you want us to just search until we find the right one? By the time we find them, god knows what they could have done to her."

"Then we had better get on with it. These are not particularly subtle men, I'm sure we'll find them quickly."

"You had better be right," John said as she got out of the car. As Sherlock reached for the door handle to let himself out, he found himself hoping he was right this time too.

Molly's journey had not been a comfortable one. Once she'd been shoved into the car, she'd tried to sit up rather than lying awkwardly on her stomach. One of the men had responded to this by turning in his seat and pointing the knife in her face. It seemed she was to stay lying down for the journey. The two men spent much of the journey gloating about how happy their boss was going to be to see her and how she was going to solve all their problems. Now Molly felt sick. She couldn't remember why this had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Thoughts of what could happen filled her head, terrible images of what these men might do to her. She tried to get rid of them, but it was hard. In the end, she focused on the idea of John and Sherlock bursting in to rescue her like knights on their noble steeds.

When the car eventually pulled up and stopped, her heart seemed to stop too. The men got out and she found herself being dragged from the car feet first. When her stomach hit the edge of the seat, the men grabbed her arms and hauled her up to her feet. One let go and started to lock up the car while the other led her towards a door. It looked like she was on some industrial estate somewhere, not when she recognised though. She could only hope that the two of them had kept up with the car.

Inside the building, there were three more men waiting for them all standing near a chair. It looked like one of those cheap office chairs, with a metal frame and a lack of wheels. Something she could be restrained to, a voice in her head told her. That thought scared her, but she tried to keep her face as blank as possible. She tried to remember what Sherlock's face was like when he stared off into the distance, but that just made her think of those cheekbones, which wasn't useful. As she was brought before the other three men, one stepped forwards with a smile on his face. The boss she presumed.

"You must be Molly Hooper," he said, a thick London accent and fake geniality making it sound almost ridiculous. "So nice to have you with us love, won't you have a seat?" Behind her, the knife cut through the cable tie at her wrists before she was spun around and forced into the chair. More cable ties were brought out and her wrists were now being strapped to the arms of the chair. She noted they did nothing to her legs, they clearly weren't expecting any kind of resistance. All four of the men who'd been looking for her were in the room now, but they all hung back to let their boss do the work.

"Now Molly, we need to get some information from you," he said with a smile.

"I don't know anything," responded Molly, shocked to find her voice quivered with fear.

"I wouldn't say that dear," he shook his head as he spoke, he hands clasped behind him. "You know something we really need to find out. A man was in your morgue a few weeks ago, name of Wilson Briggs. Ring a bell?"

Molly searched her memory, but she was terrible with names. Especially the name of a body she looked at over a month ago.

"He was a big guy, had a lot of tattoos. Nice big tattoo of an eagle across his chest."

Now that rang a bell. She nodded her head, eyes flicking past him to the closed door. Where were they?

"Good, we're getting somewhere. Hoped we would. I didn't really want to have to use this on you." As he spoke, he brought a knife round from behind his back so it was in front of her face. It wasn't like the one the man in the car had had, this one was bigger. She swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the vomit that was rising in her throat. "Those tattoos were important. One of his tattoos is going to tell us where to find our stuff. See, he hired us to do a few jobs with him and then he was keeping the gear somewhere secret till we were done. One more job to do and we would get our share. And what does he do? He ups and dies. So you need to start remembering those tattoos and tell us where our stuff is."

Molly just stared at him, her mind blank. All she could remember was that ugly eagle tattoo and how Sherlock had commented on it. That surprised her; she'd forgotten Sherlock and John had come to look at the body. They thought he was involved in something, but she couldn't remember what. Maybe it was to do with what these men wanted.

"Anything coming to mind there?" the man asked and Molly just stared at him.

"I don't remember anything about his tattoos," she said quietly.

"Oh dear," responded the man, lowering the knife to rest on her forearm. "Maybe you need a little incentive."

Molly couldn't help but scream when the knife was suddenly forced down and across her skin. She felt the warm blood on her skin, looking down she saw the slash went from her elbow to wrist. Not deep enough to do a lot of damage, but enough to hurt like hell.

"Now, let's go back to those tattoos."

Outside the building, John and Sherlock were admiring the black cars that certainly looked like what they were looking for when they heard the scream.

"Told you we'd find them," said Sherlock as John pulled his gun out and they both charged towards the door. Bursting through the stupidly unlocked door, they found five men staring at them all stood around Molly tied to a chair.

"The fuck?" said the man holding the knife while the other four ran at John and Sherlock, though they stopped when they saw John had a gun. The man walked around so he was behind Molly and pressed the knife to her throat. She could feel the blood on it drip onto her skin and tried hard not to swallow. "I'm guessing you're here for her."

"Yes," said John, gun pointed right at him. He didn't have a clear shot though; the man had crouched down and kept his head close to Molly's. It was too risky, but he kept the gun up. "Let her go."

"Not yet, haven't got what I want. Here, aren't you the great Sherlock Holmes?" he asked, suddenly puzzled as to why he had turned up.

Sherlock was trying to take it all in. Four men, each with knives he imagined though none had them out. The other man had taken the role as leader, hence the big knife. There was a cut on Molly's arm; the blood was dripping onto the floor beside the chair. She looked scared, but had definitely looked relieved when they'd arrived.

"Yes I am, now what do you want with Miss Hooper?" he asked, sounding just as unimpressed as he always did. John couldn't figure out how he could do that with the situation around them.

"She knows where some of our things are and we want them back," he replied.

"Remember the man with the eagle tattoo?" she asked Sherlock, the man pressing the knife a little tighter as she spoke. "Apparently he had the location of their stuff tattooed on him."

Molly was praying, which was a rare thing for her, that Sherlock would understand and knew what these men wanted. For a moment, there was no reaction, before Sherlock's eyes brightened.

"Yes, I remember him. And I know exactly where your things are. He had co-ordinates tattooed onto him."

The man with the knife grinned while Molly and John each tried to figure out how he had managed to do that.

"Good, give them to us," he said, nodding his head to the other men as they turned to look at him for reassurance.

"Let her go," responded Sherlock. "Then you get your co-ordinates."

In that moment, Sherlock noted the change of expression in the man's face. An idea had come into his mind, and that worried him.

"How about we all go together? That way you have to tell the truth because if you don't she's gonna get hurt," he grabbed Molly's hair as he spoke, pulling her head back to expose her throat even more with the bloodied knife pressed to it.

"Fine," replied Sherlock, though John just looked at him aghast.

"Excellent. Your mate will have to hand over his gun though, can't be too careful. Then you two will travel with two of my men and we'll go with the other two." He moved the knife to cut the ties at Molly's wrists before pulling her hair up to make her stand. Now he stood right behind her, knife back at her throat.

"I will travel with you two and one of your men," Sherlock said, eyes cold. "John will travel with the other three."

"Oh god," the man laughed. "You really care that much about what happens to this dumb bitch? You must be going soft. Fine, but we better get your hands behind your back before we go. You're a tricky one."

Sherlock nodded and turned, placing his hands together behind his back. He flexed his fingers a little and Molly couldn't help but look. Then something began to dawn on her. Sherlock didn't have his long coat on and there was a strange looking bulge in the waistband of his trousers where his hands were. Looking up, she noted that two of the men were near him while the other two were heading towards John to disarm him. She looked at John who suddenly winked. Molly braced herself and waited for the chaos to begin.

As soon as one man laid his hand on Sherlock's arm, it all kicked off. Sherlock pulled a gun from his waistband and hit man across the face with the butt of it. The other man reached for his knife, but with a graceful spin, Sherlock was already hitting him across the face before he'd even realised it was coming. John was making quick work of the other two men, striking one across the head with his gun before punching the other one in the face. All four were on the ground in seconds and now Sherlock and John were pointing their guns at Molly and her captor. Molly noticed the sudden removal of the knife at her neck as the man's hand dropped down a little. Now was her chance. Her head darted forward and she bit his hand hard, making the knife drop to the ground with a clatter. Dropping her body down a little, she rammed her elbow back hard into his stomach before spinning round to knee him the groin. He went down with a wheezing cry of pain and clutched at his genitals. Molly looked down at him.

"I am not a dumb bitch," she shouted at him, which strangely made her feel a lot better. Turning back to face John and Sherlock, she found them still pointing guns at her and just staring at her. "You can put the guns down."

"Molly," said Sherlock, lowering his gun. "That was magnificent."

That made her blush.

"Now then," he continued. "We had better get these gentlemen tied up, call Lestrade and John should probably see to that wound on your arm."

Molly looked down at her bleeding arm and suddenly felt quite faint. She took a few wobbling steps and found her legs go from under her. She didn't hit the ground though, which was strange. Someone was holding her up; her vision was just full of purple though. Now she was being pulled up until she found herself looking at Sherlock. He actually looked worried as he tried to keep her standing up.

"Come on, let's get you sat down," he said softly, trying to move her backwards to the chair. She wasn't far from it though as he carefully lowered her down and crouched next to her. He looked at her arm and then up at her face again.

"You really do care," she said with a smile. Sherlock placed a hand over hers and squeezed it, trying to reassure her. He wanted to say he did, but he couldn't find those words. Not yet at least.

Lestrade had to admit it was one of the more interesting phone calls he'd received from John. Apparently he and Sherlock had found the members of a gang they'd been looking for who were responsible for a number of robberies across the city over the last few months. He still hadn't quite been prepared for the sight that greeted him when he's arrived at the building though. Near the door, four men lay either moaning or unconscious with their hands tied behind their backs with cable ties. John was stood over them, giving Lestrade a little smile and wave as he walked in. Further into the room, Sherlock was stood over another man who was sat looking very pissed off. Next to Sherlock, he was shocked to see Molly sitting on a chair with one arm bandaged up.

"What the hell?" he asked, not sure who to look at.

"Good of you to turn up at last," replied Sherlock with his usual scorn. "I have some co-ordinates for some of your subordinates to go and visit, I believe you will find all the stolen items there. Now if you don't mind this has been a very long night for the three of us. I'm sure you and your men can deal with these five."

"Hold on," sighed Lestrade, not ready to be brushed off quite so easily. "Would someone please tell me what happened here? Why do these men look like they've been attacked? Why is Molly here and why does she have a bandage on her arm?"

"These men wanted the location of the items they helped steal; they thought Molly had the location as the man who hired them had it tattooed on his body and she was the one who examined the body when he died. They kidnapped her and attempted to extort the information from her using a knife. Then all the men fell down of their own accord."

John had to laugh at that, only Sherlock could say all of that with such a straight face.

"They also broke into Molly's home, so you may want to get some men round there. Though that was over three weeks ago."

"Wait," Lestrade said looking confused again. "If they broke in three weeks ago, why have they only just got Molly?"

"I've been living with Sherlock and John, they intercepted me and made sure I didn't go home," Molly replied, a little annoyed that everyone kept talking about her like she wasn't there. She stood up, a little shakily, and looked at Lestrade. "Can we do this tomorrow, I really want to sleep?"

Lestrade looked at her and saw how pale she looked. He also noted how Sherlock had reached a hand towards her when she'd started to stand up, ready to support her. That was a turn up for the books.

"Sure, we'll take some statements tomorrow. Now where will I find you all?"

"221b Baker Street of course," said Sherlock happily, now striding towards them and the exit. Molly followed behind, John moving towards her to make sure she was okay. After he'd walked out the door though, Sherlock ducked his head back in to look at the other two. "Shall we get some food on the way home?"

"I would really like some Chinese food," replied Molly with a smile, while John nodded.

"Excellent," smiled Sherlock as the two of them finally reached the door. Lestrade found himself moving to stare through the doorway as the three of them walked off together. He had absolutely no idea what had happened, part of him was sure he didn't want to know, but it appeared that something very interesting had gone on these past few weeks.

Lestrade arrived at Baker Street the next morning not knowing entirely what he was going to find. It was true that Molly's home had been broken into, there were now people there examining everything. It was the idea that she had spent nearly a month living with Sherlock Holmes and not gone crazy that was worrying him. As he climbed up the stairs, he was shocked to find a scene of perfect domestic harmony to greet him. Molly and John were sat together on the sofa while Sherlock sat in his usual chair. The television was on and it appeared they were all watching it.

"Not interrupting am I?" he asked, trying to figure out if he'd walked into some alternate universe as he'd walked up the stairs. The television was turned off and they all turned to look at him, which made him feel very uneasy. Now he was sure he was walking into a trap.

It took a few hours to get statements from everyone, Sherlock liked to interrupt every few minutes. He just glared at them all when they each proclaimed that the men just happened to fall down at the same time, they had no idea what could have caused any marks or injuries on them. In the end he just accepted it all and decided he'd try to figure it all out later.

"Now Molly, because we need to examine your house as some of those men apparently decided to live there while waiting for you, you're not going to be able to go home for a few days. Do you want to organise a hotel or anything?" Lestrade said it with a glance at Sherlock that clearly showed his concern over leaving her here with him any longer.

"She'll be fine here for a few more days," responded John. "I mean, unless you want to go to a hotel?"

"I'm fine here," she said, smiling at Lestrade. "Guess I'll need to organise sorting out my front door when you're done though."

"Don't worry about that," said Sherlock. "We can sort that out."

Both Molly and John noticed he was twirling a credit card between his fingers and had a smirk on his face. That was all it took for the two of them to burst out into hysterical laughter. Even Sherlock started laughing too. Lestrade looked at them and started to wonder if the events of last night were having some delayed effect on them. Or perhaps, they'd all just gone mad.

Finally, after a month living with Sherlock and John, Molly was going home. The house had been cleaned up and front door replaced. At last, she could sleep in her own bed and stop feeling bad for making John sleep on the sofa. Her packing was being done at a slow pace, they'd had to go and buy a suitcase before she could start. The occasional twinge of pain from her arm didn't help either, it was healing well according to John but it was still sore. As she packed, she found herself trying to process everything that had happened over the past few weeks. She didn't really feel like the same person anymore. Somehow, having to spend a month dealing with Sherlock had made her remember that she wasn't a timid little mouse. It had brought out her confidence again, and made her realise her crush on him was quite ridiculous. Molly had to admit, she had never imagined kneeing him in the groin was going to do such much good for her.

Behind her, the door opened quietly. She turned to see who it was, expecting either John or Lestrade. It seemed Lestrade had now appointed himself as her guardian, ready to escort her home and away from the mad house as he had described it. Instead, she found that it was Sherlock. He closed the door behind him and she heard the click as he locked it before he turned to stand in front of the door. A strange silence settled in the room. Molly was sure that having a man walk into her room, lock the door and block the exit was something she should worry about. She looked at him and their eyes met. That strange hold his eyes had had on her before was gone now, she could easily look away. Instead, she tried to read his body language. He seemed nervous, as though something wasn't quite right.

"Molly," he began at last, before swallowing hard. "As this is your last day here, I wanted to tell you something."

"You needed to lock me in here to do that?" she asked. "People will talk you know."

Sherlock smiled at that, now a little more at ease. He was about to say words he found it hard to say to people and had rarely ever said to anyone.

"Molly, I'm sorry."

Molly couldn't help herself and just stared at him with her mouth wide open. Sherlock Holmes had just apologised to her for only the second time in her life, clearly the world was about to end.

"I know I have often said some cruel and hurtful things to you, but I see now that I underestimated you and your character. You are a wonderful person Molly; I just wish you could understand that sometimes."

He wasn't expecting the hug. She practically flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. With no idea how to react, he just stood there while she hugged him, which was perfectly fine by Molly.

"You know Sherlock," she said as she stepped back. "You can be very nice, I just don't think you realise you can do it. You're a good friend you know?"

Sherlock just smiled awkwardly at her. Then he unlocked the door and opened it quietly but stopped when he heard his name being said outside. Molly heard her name too and came to stand next to him.

"It must be a trick, that can't exist," John was talking, sounding completely shocked. "What...when did that happen? I mean, they kissed?"

"I think John found that picture," said Molly quietly to Sherlock.

"I know," they heard Lestrade exclaim. "There was me thinking that man didn't even know one end of a woman from another."

That made Sherlock seethe a little, he hated that everyone liked to mock him over that. The remembrance of Irene and the nickname Moriarty had given him stung deep.

"We should perform another experiment," said Molly, which made Sherlock turn around. There was that mischievous gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her lips.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked with an equally devious smirk.

In the living room John and Lestrade continued to just stare at the picture of Sherlock and Molly kissing. They were trying desperately to figure out it had been faked because there was no way it could be real. They wanted to ask Sherlock, but it appeared he'd gone out somewhere. They were so busy talking, that Molly's sudden cry didn't register at first. When they heard her again, they rushed towards her room. Pushing the door open, they both stood and stared.

Molly was stood against the wall of the room while Sherlock kissed her neck. He was shirtless and her top had been discarded too. One of her hands was in his hair while the other gripped at his belt. Sherlock had one hand on the top her arm, the other was tucked under the waistband of her exposed underwear where her open jeans had slipped down. Sherlock's kissing on her neck made her moan, her eyes closed and head thrown back. Her eyes opened and she saw the two men in the doorway out of the corner of her eye.

"Shit!" she exclaimed loudly, pushing Sherlock away from her. Sherlock looked confusedly at her before turning to see what she was looking at. His eyes went wide at the sight of the two men. Lestrade and John could barely comprehend what they were seeing. Maybe that picture wasn't a fake after all.

Without a word, the two men just stepped back and practically fell over each other to get away. They left the door wide open as they scurried away and it wasn't long before they heard the front door slam. That was all it took for Molly to double over laughing and even Sherlock had to laugh at the reactions too.

"Well, it's going to be an interesting few days," said Molly when she finally managed to stop laughing. "You'll have to let me know what results you get from John."

"Of course," he responded with a smile, picking up jus shirt from the floor and putting it back on. Molly did the same, as well as having to fasten her jeans back up.

"I'd best finish packing," she said with a sigh, so Sherlock went to leave. "Oh Sherlock, I've got some data for you now." He turned round to look at her inquisitively. "I have no idea how you know, but you know exactly where to kiss a woman to turn her on. And I would still most definitely sleep with you."

All Sherlock could do was smile back at her before finally leaving her to finish packing. As he walked down the corridor and up the stairs to his room, he found himself considering Molly Hooper. No longer the scared, naive mouse he had first met, it turned she was actually a fiery, brave and deeply mischievous woman. While he couldn't quite bring himself to say the word friend about her, he still hadn't said that about John, he could imagine a fairly perfect title for her right now: partner in crime.


End file.
